


Resuscitate Me

by TriscuitsandSoup



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: CPR, Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation, Cuddling & Snuggling, Drowning, Established Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski, First Aid, Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Mouth-to-Mouth, Near Death, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-15
Updated: 2016-06-15
Packaged: 2018-07-15 04:19:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7207577
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TriscuitsandSoup/pseuds/TriscuitsandSoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles almost drowns after he gets dragged into a pool. Peter deals with the aftermath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resuscitate Me

“ _Give him to me_!” Peter roared, with such command and authority that Derek immediately shoved the limp boy into his arms. Peter winced at the lifeless way his head rolled as he was moved. He laid Stiles down gently on the ground, pressing his ear up to his nose and mouth. There was no breath. In the glow of the pool lights he could see the purple and blue tint his lips had taken on. He cursed and moved his hand over Stiles heart. 

_. . . . . . . . . ._. Peter let out a breath he didn't know he held. _Oh god no, no no no,_ he thought. There was no heartbeat, but there was still hope. He moved back and pressed his hands down on Stiles chest. He pushed hard and fast, nearly thirty times but Stiles still wouldn't breath. 

“You're going to hurt him!” Scott said as Peter sharply jabbed his hands down. He winced when he felt a fragile rib splinter. Scott was pressing a cellphone to his hear, faintly he could hear Melissa McCall shouting from the other end. 

“It's not going to hurt him for very long if he's _dead_!” Peter snarled, continuing the compression. 

“It's not working,” Erica said quietly. Her clothes were sopping wet. At least one of the idiots had dove in when the water sprite started to pull him down. Peter arrived just in time to see Derek pulling Erica and Stiles from the water, only Stiles wasn't moving. Derek began shaking him. When that didn't work he slapped him. The boy didn't even grunt in pain. The image of an egg being shook up inside a glass jar popped into Peters brain. 

“ _Shut up_!” he hissed back at the female beta. He stopped the compression, scooping Stiles head up with one hand, tilting his chin with the other. He pinched his nose with his fingers and pressed their lips together. His lips were freezing and tasted like chlorine. Peter breathed a mouthful of air into him. Still nothing, but his heartbeat was still there. Peter took another breath and released it down Stiles airways.

Stiles twitched. Peter jerked away just in time to avoid the spew of chlorinated water that issued forth from the boys mouth. Stiles coughed and jerked, rolling onto his side. His eyes opened up into tiny slits. 

“Don't crowd him!” Peter snarled when the teenagers started to move in again. Those brats were going to get the kid killed, if they hadn't already. 

Peter gently wrapped his arms around Stiles torso and supported him while he continued to wheeze and wretch pool water onto the ground. He stroked his hair softly, which clung to his forehead in short, mangled locks.

“. . . . . -eter?” he wheezed out. 

“It's alright,” Peter whispered, low so the others wouldn't hear. “You're okay now, just breath, okay?” The whites of his eyes had turned completely red. He was starting to shake. 

Peter felt a tap on his shoulder. He was about to snarl another 'get away,' but it was only Melissa. Melissa, the nurse, the only one who could be entrusted with Stiles life when he wasn't there.

“Peter,” she said. “How is he?” 

“Not dead,” Peter said, rubbing Stiles back. The human shuddered. He wasn't paying attention to what was going on around him. “If it weren't for me these idiots would have stood around and let him _die_.” The wolves all shifted uncomfortably, but not one tried to defend themselves. They messed up and they knew it. They made a mistake letting Stiles get pulled under by the water sprite, they made another by not knowing CPR. 

Reluctantly Peter allowed Melissa to take Stiles from him. She wrapped him up in a blanket and supported his head while Peter slid his arms out from under the boy. Stiles eyes flickered over to him, they were still cloudy and distant from the pain and haze of nearly drowning. Peter gave his hair one last stroke. 

He stood up. Derek sat on his knees, watching Stiles with a curious expression. Erica stood beside him, shivering in her water-logged jacket with Boyds arms wrapped tight around her waist. Scott was pestering his mother for information on Stiles condition. Melissa felt around Stiles ribs. Stiles continued to wheeze and writhe. 

Peter couldn't take it anymore. The wolf burst forth from his chest. He shifted immediately and sprinted off into the woods. He felt his fangs poking through his gums. The desire to find something to bury them in was irresistible. Stiles spent all day and night research werewolf abnormalities, trying to help them in their every little minuscule problem. He would have gone to hell and back just to save a single soul. Not one of them – not even Scott – had bothered learning how to protect _him_. 

His only regret that night was that it had been Derek and Scott who killed that creature, and not himself for what it had done to Stiles. At least then he would have had something to take his anger out on. 

*

“Hey,” Stiles said when he opened the door. The pungent, brittle scent of chlorine coated his dried and frizzled hair. His eyes were sunken, tired. The color had returned to his skin, but what little he had before he had less of now. He hadn't showered yet. 

“Hey,” Peter said back. “Did you forget to take a shower?” 

“I was waiting for you.” Stiles lips trembled. Peter didn't need anymore explanation then that. He stepped inside the house once Stiles moved back from the doorway. He knew from the stagnant smell that the Sheriff wasn't home. 

“How are you doing?” 

“Melissa says I have a broken rib,” he shut the door behind him. “Thank you.” 

“For hurting you?” 

“For _saving me_. I don't remember a lot,” he admitted, “but I remember you holding me. I remember spewing up on your shirt,” he said a little guiltily. “The one that was your favorite.”

“That's alright,” Peter told him. “You can make it up to me later.” In his head he thinks, _you're my favorite._

The horrible, goofy grin that made his eyes squint reappeared on Stiles face. It was a much better look than the solemn, bottomless stare he'd been giving. 

“You're such an asshole.” His voice was scratched up from the pool water. Peter smirked back at him and tried not to be disturbed by the sound.

“Yes, but I'm the asshole who cares about you. Speaking of people who should be caring about you,” he tilted his head towards the living room. “Where's your father? Why isn't he here? You almost _died today_ , Stiles. He should be-” 

Stiles grin faltered. “He should be at work. I _didn't_ die today, Peter. There's no reason to call and worry him more than he already is.” Stiles took Peters hand and gently tugged him up the stairs towards the bathroom. His hands were still cold like a corpse. Peter grasped them tighter. 

Stiles shed his clothes on the tiled floor of the bathroom and stepped into the shower. Peter followed him. He rinsed the chemicals from Stiles hair without using shampoo; he didn't want anything to cover the boys scent right now. Right now, Peter really, really needed to smell him. He was careful to keep from pressing down too much on his wounded side. Stiles was mostly silent throughout the shower, occasionally he would look up in a silent plea for a kiss. Peter was always more than willing to oblige him. 

*

“How can you forgive them?” Peter asked bitterly. He pressed Stiles as close to his body as he could. The shower had done its job of bringing pigment and warmth back to the boys skin. They lay on the sofa, Stiles head rested on his chest. 

“Why didn't you stay with me?” The boy was newly redressed in a pair of his sweats and one of Peters white T-shirts. They were two sizes too big, but neither of them cared. 

“I couldn't be around _them_ any longer.” 

“They weren't the ones who tried to drown me, Peter.” His head rubbed against Peters chest in the dark. The lights were out but it didn't matter, his night vision showed him all the detail he needed to see the teenager bundled up in his arms. The TV glowed along the far right wall, but the sound was muted. 

Peter listened to Stiles heartbeat, loud and strong. “I don't care. They were complicit in it.” 

“The upside is, Melissa's giving us all first aid demonstrations this week, so that's something good, right?” Stiles leaned forward and pressed his warm lips to Peters mouth. Instantly Peter jerked back. His own lips tightened. He could still feel the frozen way Stiles blue, half-dead lips had pressed against his without romance or intent behind it. Without life. He could feel the first, subtle puff of air from Stiles nose as he started to breath again. Then the nasuating smell of chlorinated water rushing from his body. He could hear his rasping gasps for air. 

“Sorry,” he muttered quietly. Peter dug his hand into the back of Stiles hair and pushed his head down so they were touching again. There was life in his lips now, a warmth, a pulse. He was not the dead, lifeless, corpse he had been. He was alive. He would continue to live. 

Stiles opened his mouth and pressed for more, but Peter pushed him back. “No, Stiles. We're not having sex after what happened to you.” Stiles looked back at him with his eyes half lidded. “Not with a broken rib.” 

“Please, Peter? I just want to be close to you.” 

“We can be close without sex.” 

A long moment passed in which neither said anything. 

“Okay,” Stiles finally agreed. He closed his eyes and moved off of Peters chest to resume his position lying down. Peter wrapped an arm around his waist – careful to avoid the bruised rib- and rested his head on top of Stiles. The pair intertwined their legs and Peter pulled the throw blanket over them, making sure to tuck it carefully around Stiles shoulders.

He was alive, and he was safe. Peter would make sure of that.


End file.
